


happy with me (in your life)

by plantegg



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/F, Insecurity, Mentions of Oma Kokichi/ Amami Rantarou, Moving In Together, Polyamory, Relationship Discussions, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed, all good i promise it's just everyone telling each other how much they love them, harukawa akamatsu and iruma have a big old lesbian uhaul together, ouma and iruma are gay and lesbian solidarity and also friends just go with it, ouma's one sided crush on saihara, please pray for iruma, so fucking self indulgent im sorry for being a lesbian on main, they regularly get drunk and cry together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 16:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantegg/pseuds/plantegg
Summary: Iruma, Harukawa, and Akamatsu move in together with the help of their friends. Iruma gets very gay for her girlfriends.





	happy with me (in your life)

Saihara, Momota, and Ouma are late.

It's hardly surprising – no one's ever on time if Ouma's involved, and especially not if they're as gullible as Momota is, or as much of a pushover as Saihara. Iruma wouldn't be surprised if he'd convinced them he was dying or used some other bullshit excuse to drag them off to do something stupid. Either way, she's not above curb stomping him, friendship and solidarity aside, if he and the others don't arrive soon – it's fucking freezing outside their new building, and she still has enough pride to keep her from tearing through their unopened boxes from their previous residences in search of something warmer to wear.

It had always been too _cold_ in her old apartment. Iruma's not sure if it's because the thermostat was broken, or because the walls felt like they were made out of tissues and spit, or because her landlady had used all her rent money on increasingly terrifying manicures instead of doing anything to keep her residents from contracting hypothermia. Whatever it was, she'd spent the better part of the last two years shivering, with only heat of her shitty, elderly laptop sputtering and wheezing as it attempted to run Minecraft keeping frostbite at bay. That had been Iruma's one rule when they'd started looking for an apartment together: it couldn't be cold. Not when she'd spent two years putting up with that shit.

It’s a heavy thud on concrete beside her that first makes her jump, and then the weight of a sudden _something_ settling around her shoulders. The connection between the two becomes apparent when she looks up to see Harukawa staring down at her, moving box at her feet, suddenly missing the jacket that she’d been wearing earlier that morning. “That’s the last one,” Harukawa tells her, taking a seat on top of the box and stretching, the muscles in her arms flexing as she moves. “All that’s left now is the bed, and Akamatsu’s piano.”

“And the fucking unholy trinity,” Iruma grumbles, pulling Harukawa’s jacket tighter around her body. “Wherever they’ve gone. My fucking fingers are gonna freeze off if I have to wait for them any longer.”

“Such a _princess_ ,” Harukawa teases, although there’s no real bite to it, and Iruma sticks her tongue out at her, trying desperately to pretend she’s not enjoying it. “You haven’t even had to lift anything yet and you’re already complaining.”

“Saihara says they’re five minutes away,” Akamatsu interjects, looking up from her phone where it’s laying on her lap. The fingers of her left hand tap out a scale next to her on the flat surface of their building’s steps, and she reaches up with her right to sweep a bit of her hair out of her face, looking up at Iruma where she leans on the banister. If she feels the cold she shows no sign of it; her smile is the way it always is, warm and utterly surprising, unanticipated enough to make Iruma’s heart leap a little in her chest whenever she sees it.

“Yeah, five minutes away from leaving their fucking house,” Iruma mutters, picking distractedly at her thumbnail. “We should’ve just asked Gonta and Chabashira. They’re the only friends we have with both muscles _and_ some understanding of how time works.”

“I’m not sure how much of an understanding of time Gonta has,” Akamatsu replies, smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth. Harukawa gives a quiet laugh, leaning back on the moving box, staring up at the sky. “And if we invited Chabashira to help us move in I’m not sure she’d ever leave. They’ll turn up soon,” she says, soft and sure enough to calm the itch of nerves crawling down Iruma’s spine, “I’m sure of it.”

Iruma stares down at the pavement below her, watching the frantic rush of scattered ants chasing each other across the chasms of cracks that line the concrete. _How long will this last?_ she wonders. How long before she inevitably fucks it all up and ruins it? Is there even a point to unpacking the boxes, to getting their bed all the way up the stairs? She doubts she’ll even make it past the door without doing _something_ to make Akamatsu and Harukawa realise that they’ve made a horrible mistake by inviting her into their lives. Iruma’s amazed she’s even made it this far, that they even considered dating her, let alone going so far as to pick out an apartment and start to move in. It’s one of those particularly fucked up games the universe likes to play with her – to bring her close to what she wants, close enough for her to begin to believe that it’s something she might actually get to keep, and then pulling it away at the last second, letting her hands shut around nothing but air. Letting her fly close enough to catch a glimpse of the sun’s light, and then snatching everything holding her up away, sending her hurtling towards the sea before its warmth can even reach a finger out to trace her skin.

Harukawa bumps her lightly with an elbow, and Iruma looks down to catch a brief glimpse of a blurry snapchat from Momota as the counter ticks down and it disappears. “They’re here,” she says, and a distant whooping followed by the appearance of three figures rounding the corner down the street only serves to confirm it. Iruma sighs and pushes herself off where she’s leaning on the banister to stand by Harukawa’s side, a hand on her hip, steadying her thoughts in preparation for the coming day. A quiet shutter noise makes her raise an eyebrow, and she turns to find Harukawa’s phone aimed towards her, and an expression on her face that looks almost guilty.

“You look nice,” Harukawa mutters. Iruma can’t help but grin smugly to herself as she watches Harukawa save the photo of her before she sends it to Momota.

She has them. Even if it’s just for a little while, Iruma has them. Which is more than she ever could have expected herself to have.

She’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts.

 

 

Momota’s panting when he finally reaches them, dragging an equally exhausted-looking Saihara with him by the hand. Ouma skips along chipperly behind them, babbling a constant string of empty dialogue that doesn’t seem to reach either of them. His clothes are completely free of any dirt, a stark contrast to Momota and Saihara’s dishevelled, sweaty appearances, hands and shirts streaked with mud. Momota leans on the banister, heaving as he tries to get his breath back, still somehow keeping a tight hold on Saihara despite him being probably the sweatiest human being Iruma has ever encountered. Iruma shoots Ouma a glare that would curdle milk and slowly, carefully, extends her middle finger where her hand rests on her thigh, out of the line of sight of anyone over five feet tall. Ouma’s smile is nothing short of angelic as he places a hand over his heart to return the gesture.

“Sorry about being late, everyone!” Momota finally manages to get out. “We had to pay a visit to the swamp.”

“The swamp,” Harukawa says flatly.

 Saihara nods, grimacing. “The swamp,” he confirms.

 Ouma’s lips twitch. Iruma’s fairly certain she’s the only one that catches it.

“The important thing is that you managed to make it here,” Akamatsu says, pulling herself to her feet, reaching out an arm to steady Saihara where he looks like he’s about to collapse in a heap. “We’re going to need all the help we can get to get all these boxes up the stairs.”

Momota glances down at the boxes stacked on the pavement, as if noticing them for the first time, and groans. “Aw, _man_. I got so distracted getting here that I forgot what we were even coming to do.”

Saihara gently pats his shoulder, and Iruma pretends not to notice Ouma’s smile completely drop from his face. “It’s okay, Momota. It’s only a few boxes that we have to get up the stairs.”

“There’s a bed, too. And a piano," Harukawa reminds him. Right on cue, the moving van pulls back into the street and begins to reverse, beeping loudly as it goes.

Saihara sags, Akamatsu’s hand against his chest seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. The smile she gives him is soft but solid as she pushes gently against his chest, righting him again on his own two feet. “It won’t be that bad," she says, the conviction in her voice enough to rouse Momota out of his slump against the banister, straightening his shoulders and stretching his back out with a groan. “There’s six of us to do it, and if we share the load it won’t be so hard.”

“I wouldn’t count Ouma as a full person," Iruma mutters. “Although I don’t doubt his skill at taking loads.”

“I hope you die," Ouma says sweetly. Akamatsu ignores them, although Saihara makes a noise like he’s choking on something, and Harukawa looks like she’s about five seconds away from taking Ouma’s neck in both hands and squeezing it until his head pops off. Fortunately, Akamatsu breaks the tension by grabbing one of the boxes from where they’re stacked on the pavement around them, wobbling slightly as she hefts it into her arms.

“Well, we might as well get started, now that we’re all here," she says, adjusting her grip on the box as she turns and begins to lug it up the stairs, pausing once she reaches the top to beam down at all of them, that mysterious sunshine in her smile that can always seem to encourage them to work together in full force as she pushes the door open with her shoulder, Saihara and Harukawa already beginning to grab boxes of their own, hypnotized by her gaze. “One down, fourteen to go!” she calls as she disappears through the doorway, and Iruma sighs before turning away to grab a box of her own.

Six people. Fifteen boxes. A piano, and a bed.

She had better hope they decided she was worth keeping. It would be a bitch to move all her stuff back out on her own.

  
  


Getting everything up the stairs is far from easy.

They’re only on the second floor, but it doesn’t take more than two trips up and down the stairs for Iruma’s back to start complaining. The others aren’t much better; Saihara could probably drown a toddler in the amount of sweat he’s produced, and Ouma looks like his legs are going to give out every time he raises a box up into his arms, despite his attempts to appear otherwise. Harukawa and Momota, however, are competing to see who can carry the most boxes at once as Akamatsu trails behind them, ostensibly to act as a referee, but mostly to nervously remind them to watch their step as they race each other up the stairs. Iruma follows, box teetering in her grasp, muttering to herself about how this all would have been much _fucking_ easier if the _fucking_ landlord would just let her rig up a _fucking_ pulley system to get everything up to their apartment for them, which Akamatsu quickly interrupts by leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek that almost makes her lose her balance. Akamatsu giggles at her surprised expression before chasing after Harukawa and Momota, calling out to them to be careful as they hurtle upwards, finally reaching the apartment with their stacks before dropping them on the floor with a pair of dull _clunks_. Iruma’s arrival, and then Saihara and Ouma behind her, marks the end of the boxes, all scattered across the hallway outside the apartment, its door as yet unopened, like a dam holding back the great flood of uncertainty that their new life entails. Akamatsu pulls the key from her pocket and unlocks the door, but pauses rather than enters, before turning to Iruma, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Want me to carry you over the threshold?”

Iruma chokes on her own spit. “What?”

Akamatsu shrugs, still grinning at her. “It’s traditional, isn’t it? To carry your partner over the threshold of your new home? I’ll have to go one at a time if I want to get you and Harukawa over, but I’ll manage.”

Iruma rolls her eyes, hoping Akamatsu doesn’t notice the way she swallows violently, trying to undo the sudden, knotted tightness in her throat. “Fuck off. You’re only meant to do that once you’re married, not that I’d even _want_ to do that sort of sappy shit with – _hey_!”

The exclamation comes as the world enters a tilted state, Iruma’s feet separating from the ground at a rate far faster than she’d like them to as an arm catches her around her thighs, scooping her up and depositing her on top of a sturdy shoulder as if she weighs nothing at all before she can topple over and go tumbling down the stairs. Harukawa grabs Akamatsu with her other arm, who gives a quiet “Oh!” of surprise followed by a cheerful giggle as she hoists her up. Harukawa is silent as she carefully carries them across the threshold of their apartment, ducking to avoid hitting either of their heads on the doorframe as she goes. Iruma’s still too shocked to move by the time Harukawa sets her down gently on the floor, as if she’s fragile, as if she’s something that deserves to be handled with care, pressing a kiss to first her cheek, and then Akamatsu’s as she helps her off her shoulder and back onto the ground next to Iruma.

“Welcome home," Harukawa says, and Iruma swallows hard, trying to tamp down the sudden rush of emotion that swells in her chest, gathering at the brink of her lashline in happy teardrops which form fat streaks like wayward clouds across the back of her hand as she swipes at her eyes to clear them. She feels Akamatsu take her other hand and squeezes hard in return, despite herself, trying to stay composed.

“Sappy," Iruma manages to get out, still clinging onto Akamatsu’s hand. “You’re both so fucking _sappy_.”

Harukawa chuckles. “You like it, though," she says, reaching out to grab Iruma’s other hand and gently tug her and Akamatsu back towards the door. “Come on, princess,” she continues, ignoring Iruma’s indignant squawk at hearing _princess_ used to describe her for the second time that day, “we still have to get the piano up those stairs, and it’s going to take all of us to do it.”

Akamatsu smiles, rolling her eyes. “Back to business already, huh?” she teases, and Iruma can’t help but grin too, heart warm with a strange feeling of _possibility_ , with the unfamiliar notion that things might, for once, actually be okay.

With the thought that maybe it would be worth unpacking her stuff after all.

  


 

The bed is, surprisingly, not that hard to carry.

With six sets of hands and a wide staircase, it’s a fairly easy process, although Saihara does look like he’s about to pass out by the time they’re finished. The piano is more of a challenge – it takes Harukawa and Momota holding it up at each end as the rest of them try valiantly to keep their grip on its middle to lug it up the stairs, and multiple pauses on the way as Ouma and Saihara nearly collapse under its weight. Iruma’s glad that there’s already a fridge and a television upstairs – she can’t imagine trying to get anything else all the fucking way up the stairs. She doesn’t think Saihara would survive it.

_And what a pity that would be._

Even with everything finally in their apartment, there’s still the matter of actually unpacking everything to get to. Harukawa and Momota are the first to move once they have their breath back, taking the bed frame between them and angling it through the narrow doorway of the bedroom. It makes sense to leave all the heaviest stuff to them; they’re really the only ones with any real muscle on them, the only ones that don’t find themselves out of breath after climbing a flight of stairs. Although, it may not have been such a great idea to have them do so much lifting – Iruma can hardly keep her eyes off the way Harukawa’s muscles flex as she easily lifts her end of the bed, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Momota as he fumbles with the other side. It doesn’t get any easier when Harukawa catches her staring; in fact, Iruma’s sure that she flexes even harder once she knows she has an audience, smirking at her as she hefts the bed frame over her head with ease to maneuver it through the doorway. There’s an easy, unruly beauty in Harukawa, in the scars that line the hard ridges of her muscled stomach, just visible where her shirt rides up as she raises her arms, in her quiet, calculating gaze that can turn ferocious within an instant. Harukawa’s not the kind of pretty that is carefully cultivated. Instead, she’s her own breed of wonderful, savage and graceful, dizzying and terrifying and altogether unbelievable. Iruma scowls at Harukawa’s smug expression, dragging her eyes away from her biceps to watch as Akamatsu giggles at something Saihara’s said, a distracting smudge of flour that Iruma wants to carefully brush away for her lining the edge of her jaw.

Saihara and Akamatsu had elected to start on organising the kitchen, putting a myriad of various spices, packets of noodles and kitchen implements they’d dug out of the boxes so far into their new homes in the drawers and cupboards of the kitchen. Which had been a fairly fast task; after all, there are only so many basic culinary items three people can own between them. Kitchen organised, Akamatsu had taken it upon herself to christen the kitchen by baking cookies to feed everyone with to keep them from collapsing from exhaustion. Saihara was, supposedly, helping her, although he seems to drop more of the ingredients across the countertop than he manages to actually get in the bowl, too busy staring dazedly at Akamatsu as she gently taps the side of her sieve, flour drifting down in a soft whisper beneath her hands. Iruma can’t really blame him, as close as she is to marching over and slapping that fucking glazed-over expression off his face so hard that it shatters. It’s hard _not_ to be enraptured by Akamatsu. Something about her is so infinitely magical, so boundlessly kind and filled with love that it’s impossible to hate her. And Iruma has _tried_ , really fucking _tried_ to hate her, to escape her feelings, to not love Akamatsu so much she feels like she’s choking with it. It’s taken time to learn that she can’t run from Akamatsu, that no one can. All she can do is be glad that somehow, impossibly, Akamatsu managed to love her back.

In the doorway to the bedroom, Momota crows idiotically, flexing triumphantly when he finally manages to lift the bed frame over his head. Saihara responds to this by dropping an entire bag of flour on the floor, and Iruma really fucking hopes his anguished shriek covers the sound of her snorting with glee. She doesn’t have to worry too much about him, anyway. If Akamatsu makes him dazed, Momota makes him downright _goofy_ , in a way that she should be annoyed by but can’t help but find any less than disgustingly adorable, especially considering Momota’s just as bad around him.

A loud thud beside her brings a quick reminder of what she’s actually meant to be doing. She glares down at Ouma as he continues dropping everything he can pull out of the box in front of him onto the floor with a force that his shitty little body shouldn’t be able to contain, his smile only growing wider with each old invention of hers that he sends crashing to the ground.

“Can you maybe stop fucking _throwing_ my shit on the floor?”

Ouma smiles angelically, and drops a heater that had taken her _months_ to put together so hard it makes her bones rattle. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy being a useless lesbian and actually helped me unpack these boxes I wouldn’t have to break all your things to get your attention.”

Iruma knocks him with her shoulder in warning, but takes the next piece he offers her and gingerly sets it in the pile marked _bedroom_ , tearing her eyes away from Akamatsu and her baking to begin to sift through the box in front of her. “So… the swamp?” she asks eventually, and Ouma laughs, his eyes already glinting with malicious glee.

“I convinced Momota that I was too sick to help everyone move. Told him the only cure for it was leeches, and that we needed to drive to the swamp to get them.”

Iruma cackles. “ _Leeches_? Did you tell him you had the fucking plague?”

“No, even better – I told him I just had too much blood, and the only safe way to get it out was with leeches.” Ouma shakes his head, grinning down at the box in front of him. “It’s a medical mystery how one man can be so smart and so stupid at the same time.”

Iruma swipes at her eyes, wet with tears from how hard she’s been laughing. “Holy _shit_ , dude. How’d you manage to get Saihara to go along with it?”

Ouma’s smile stays in place, but the warmth behind it drops. His hands clench and unclench, and Iruma has to resist the shitty, awful urge she feels to reach out and hug him that she always has when he gets pathetic over Saihara. “Well, you know how he is," he says, voice still upbeat but lacking in any real humour. “Wherever Momota goes, he’s there, getting dragged along by his hand and fucking loving it, every step of the way.”

“Ouma…” Iruma begins, and he raises a hand, cutting her off.

“Don’t bother. It’s fine." He snorts, a little life present in his eyes again as he grins, going back to rifling through the box. “It was pretty funny while it lasted, anyway. I had him going for a while. Actually, I think he still hasn’t realised I was fucking with him.”

Iruma awkwardly touches his shoulder in what’s trying to be a comforting pat. “If you need me to get fucked up and cry with you tonight, I will. God knows I interrupted enough of your plans to bitch about Harukawa and Akamatsu before we got together.”

He shakes his head, still not looking up at her. “Seriously, it’s fine. Enjoy your first night in your new place with your girlfriends. I’ll text you if I need you.” He shrugs, finally looking back at her. “Besides, it’s getting easier. Not better. Easier. It still sucks ass, but–” Something just past her shoulder catches his eye and turns whatever his sentence was going to end with into a confused noise of disgust. “Oh, _Jesus_. Gross.”

Iruma turns to look and really, she can’t blame him. “For _fuck’s_ sake.” Now that he’s finally managed to get the bed frame through the door, Momota’s taken it upon himself to stand behind Saihara, chin resting on his head, arms around his waist, hands on his hands as he shows him how to _correctly_ knead dough. Not that any of the lesson’s actually sinking in – Saihara’s too busy giggling and blushing as he lets himself be manhandled, occasionally turning to press kisses to the edge of Momota’s jaw that almost make him lose his balance. Iruma raises an eyebrow at Ouma. “You _sure_ you don’t need me to get you fucked up tonight?”

Ouma shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Like I was saying, it’s not fun to watch, but…” He sighs, almost wistfully, staring down at his hands. “I know that I couldn’t be _that_ for him, even if we were together. I couldn’t be what Momota is for him. And the way Momota is, that’s good for him. It makes him happy.” He bites his lip. “It makes it easier, to know that he’s happy.”

“Ouma, you–”

“The thing is, Iruma.” He cuts her off, and by all right she should be pissed, but the look in his eyes calms her rage before it can even begin to build, makes her hold her tongue. “I know you’re going to think I’m fucking with you, but listen. You’re what Harukawa and Akamatsu need, just like Momota is what Saihara needs. Even when you think they don’t, they need you. You’re _their_ happiness. You fit together. That’s the reason that after this, you’ll be staying here with Akamatsu and Harukawa, Momota and Saihara will be going to dinner together, and I’ll be going home to play virtual golf until two o’clock in the morning by myself. It’s a rare thing for people to fit so well together, Iruma. And you shouldn’t waste it because you’re scared that it’s going to disappear from you.”

Ouma’s smile is just the slightest bit wonky when he grins at her, wobbly with emotion but still real, still sure. "Be happy, Iruma. You deserve it." He swallows, his fingers twitching, and looks up at her, sincere in a way she knows it must hurt for him to be. "Don't let that shitty brain of yours convince you otherwise." Ouma's eyes flick over to Saihara and Momota, still laughing together, so fast that only she could catch it. "Don't ruin it for yourself."

Iruma takes a moment to gauge exactly how fragile Ouma’s emotional state is, and then grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him violently, hoping her grin covers the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “God, shut up, you little dweeb. Your mom should have swallowed you," she says. _Thank you_ , is what she means. _I’m glad that you’re my friend_.

“You’re an asshole, Iruma," he responds, lightly smacking her hand away. “I hope you get hit by a bus tomorrow.” The real, genuine warmth in the grin he gives her is all she needs to know that her message came across.

“You won’t even be playing virtual golf alone, anyway," she teases. “Broccoli boy’s going to want in at some point.”

That one catches Ouma off guard for real. “Shut the _fuck_ up," he snaps, a sudden blush crawling across his face, and Iruma cackles.

“Sure thing, squirt," she singsongs, ruffling his hair. “Just make sure you use a condom. I won’t hesitate to cut Amami’s dick off if he impregnates you and infects the world with your spawn.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ ," Ouma chants as he slaps uselessly at her arm, and Iruma can’t help but laugh, can’t keep down the happiness that soars through her chest, through her veins, bubbles up through her throat in great waves. Shaking her head, she eventually lets up on Ouma and goes back through digging through the box in front of her. She _fits_ here. She _fits_ in this apartment, _fits_ with Harukawa and Akamatsu, belongs by their side, just as they belong beside hers.

It’s not a feeling she’s used to. But she’s certain that it’s one she wants to keep.

  
  


It’s dark by the time they’ve finished unpacking and sent everyone home, arms loaded with more cookies than three people could possibly eat between them, and all any of them really want to do is eat and sleep. Harukawa somehow manages to turn the scraps of food they have in the kitchen into a passable stir fry, which they eat from the pot, too lazy to even consider washing dishes, sitting on moving boxes in the kitchen, still dizzy with the day’s excitement rattling through their bones.It’s the first time in forever that Iruma’s eaten anything that wasn’t microwaved or delivered, or eaten with other people, rather than alone in her bedroom, blinds shut and lights off, still tinkering with a gadget as she eats. It’s a good kind of strange, to be cooked for, to have someone to share dinner with; it’s nice, though weird, to throw her head back and cackle with a full mouth as Akamatsu imitates Momota’s goofy, sappy mannerisms when he’s around Saihara. Afterwards, when Iruma slyly suggests the shower together to conserve time and water, Harukawa only rolls her eyes and shuts the bathroom door in her face, leaving her to kick Akamatsu’s ass at Mario Kart as she waits for her turn to shower. She’s fairly certain Akamatsu’s letting her win, content to smile softly at Iruma as she whoops with glee when, onscreen, her Bowser shoots a blue shell towards Akamatsu’s Princess Peach and sends her flying across the track, but her victory is still sweet when Akamatsu congratulates her with a kiss on the cheek. Harukawa’s harder to beat when she switches with Akamatsu; her younger years spent playing against the kids in the orphanage have made her a skilled competitor, and she is _ruthless_ in a way that’s entirely unexpected from someone that picks Koopa Troopa every time. Iruma’s attempts to get ahead by cheating only earn her Harukawa’s hands on her ribs, tickling her mercilessly until they end up abandoning the game altogether, breathless on the floor of the living room, hand in hand and shaking with laughter until Akamatsu comes back in and untangles them from one another.

However, everything starts to go wrong when it’s time to go to bed.

See, whoever had built the bed clearly hadn’t built it with three people in mind. No matter how they try to arrange themselves, it seems impossible for all of them to lie in it comfortably – every attempt leaves at least one person hanging out the side, dangling forlornly as the other two awkwardly shift to try to accommodate them. It’s not the first time they’ve had this problem, but it’s always seemed to work out somehow in the past, and it makes Iruma’s throat close, makes anxiety crawl down her spine, makes her wish she knew how to rewind this whole day, to put everything she owns back into boxes and take them back to her old apartment, to forget how it feels not to be _alone_ , to not know what it is she’s going to miss when –

“This isn’t working," Harukawa says finally, and Iruma’s heart sinks. She knew it. They don’t _fit_ together after all.

“I’ll take the floor," she mutters, immediately moving to slide out of the bed. She should get used to it early. Maybe then it won’t be so hard when, inevitably, she finds herself living alone again. However, her attempts to move are thwarted when a muscular arm winds itself around her waist and tugs her back, joined by another set of arms wrapping around her chest and hugging her tight. Iruma wheezes as Akamatsu kisses the back of her neck where she’s snuggled up behind her, and Harukawa blinks placidly down at her from in front of her, both of them effectively sandwiching her together until she’s unable to move.

“I was only going to say that we should move closer together.” Harukawa’s breath is hot when she speaks quietly in Iruma’s ear, making her squirm and press her face into her chest to hide her blush.

“... Fine. Just don’t breathe on me," Iruma says eventually, and Akamatsu giggles.

“I’ll try not to," she whispers, a tinge of sleepiness already curling its way around her voice, and Iruma gingerly reaches out to wrap her arms around Harukawa’s waist, hoping that it’ll be enough to quell the sudden unease that’s found its way into her chest.

  


It only takes Akamatsu a few minutes to fall asleep, her breath slow against Iruma’s ear, and Iruma’s pretty sure she’s drooling on her, at least a little. Harukawa follows shortly after, leaving Iruma to lie awake, staring past her shoulder at a street lamp that shines through a crack in her blind. It’s impossible to sleep with anxiety still clawing at her brain, shaking her shoulders, crawling through her sternum, the thought of _how long?_ still pounding away in every thud of her pulse. It’s impossible to sleep with the fear that this might be the last night she ever spends with Harukawa and Akamatsu, that tomorrow morning she might wake up alone in her freezing, shitty apartment again, that she’ll be lonely again and stay that way for the rest of her life –

She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until she feels Harukawa move, feels her grab her hand and hold it, tethering her, evening out the shakiness of her breath until she feels like she can talk again.

“You’ll laugh," Iruma warns. “You’ll laugh at me if I tell you what’s wrong.”

“No I won’t,”’ Harukawa responds. It’s too dark for Iruma to see her face, but she can picture her expression – it’s calm, and open, and waiting. It’s ready to listen. It wants her to feel better. Iruma takes a murky breath, unsure as to how to begin.

“Everything about today has felt so _impossible_ , so _intangible_ , like there’s no way anything like _this_ could ever happen to anyone like _me_ . Like my life is water, and if I move wrong it’ll all go slipping out of my hands.” Iruma swallows against her throat constricting violently with a sob, and Harukawa gently pats her back, encouraging her to go on. “Like the universe is going to realise that it made a mistake, like _you’re_ going to realise that I don’t deserve any of this, like everything up until now has been a dream and I’m going to wake up tomorrow, back in my old apartment.” Iruma hiccups, unable to keep her tears from slipping down her cheeks. “I’ll be alone again, Harukawa. Alone and cold. It was always so _cold…_ ” Her voice trails off. Incredibly, Harukawa doesn’t laugh. Instead, she sighs. Iruma feels her hand slide down from around her waist, past her hip, further still, until –

"Ow!"

Harukawa's nails are blunt, but they still fucking _hurt_ as she grabs at Iruma's thigh and pinches it, just briefly, before her arm returns to around her waist. Iruma glares at her, even though she knows she can't see it in the darkness, pain in her thigh receding as quickly as it came but still smarting enough to keep her mad. "What the _fuck_ was that for?" she hisses, hands balled up against Harukawa's chest, and behind her, Akamatsu shifts in her sleep, mumbling nonsense for a moment before burying her face in Iruma's hair, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her.

When Harukawa speaks, her voice is impassive. "Did you wake up?"

It's enough to throw Iruma off, despite the ache in her thigh which she's certain will be a bruise the next day. "Did I _what_?"

She feels Harukawa shrug. "I pinched you. You're still here. You're not dreaming."

Iruma growls, resting her head against Harukawa's chest, not quite as pissed as she had been before but not entirely satisfied, either. "You didn't have to go _that_ far to prove it to me."

Harukawa continues as if she hadn't even spoken. "You're not going to wake up alone tomorrow. You're going to wake up with one of your arms asleep because it got stuck under me in the night, and to the sound of our smoke alarm going off, because Akamatsu's going to wake up before us and try to make us waffles. Except Akamatsu doesn't know how to make waffles, so she's going to end up burning them, and they're going to be awful. And you're going to tell her they're awful, to her face, but then you're going to eat all of them anyway, because you love her, and you want to make her happy. And you do make her happy, Iruma. You make both of us so happy, all the time. We love being in love with you, and that's not going to change any time soon."

For a moment, all Iruma can do is press her face into Harukawa's chest, arms hesitantly winding up around the back of her neck to pull her into a hug as she tries not to cry. Harukawa lets her, one hand silently stroking her back in the space between it and Akamatsu's chest, allows her a moment to get a hold of herself, compose herself just the slightest bit, gives her something to cling to as a sudden, unexpected swell of emotion swirls up through her chest like a caged tornado that batters against her ribs and claws at her chest.

"Okay," Iruma says when she's gotten herself under control again. "But that's tomorrow. That's now. What about later? Won't you get... bored of me?"

Harukawa's hand stills on her back. "What do you mean?"

Iruma sighs and pulls back from Harukawa's chest, staring past her at their bedroom window, watching the moon through a crack in their blind as it blows in the wind. "Sure, I'm fun for you two to keep around for now, but I'm not going to be fun forever. I'm an asshole to both of you, all the time. Even when you don't deserve it." She chews on her lower lip, uncertain, almost afraid to proceed. "I know that there's not a lot to love about me. I might be gorgeous, and a genius, but I'm not easy to get along with at all. All the good things about me get outweighed by all the stuff that's shitty."  Her breaths are deep and shaky, and she feels Harukawa's arms tighten around her waist, just slightly. "And someday, you and Akamatsu are going to realise that. Someday, you're going to run out of things to love about me. And when you get sick of me..." Her throat closes, and she shakes her head, teeth almost tearing her bottom lip in her effort to keep her mouth shut against the sob that's threatening to crawl out. "I don't know what I'll do."

For a moment, there is nothing. Just Iruma, waiting in silence. Waiting for the world to fall.

Harukawa shifts, and Iruma clutches desperately at the back of her neck, not ready to let her go after everything she's told her. She feels her heart tear just slightly at its edge as Harukawa reaches back to pry a hand off her neck, tenses and waits for her to tell her to leave, to get out, that she's changed her mind and realised that Iruma isn't worth it after all –

But then, the impossible happens.

Harukawa takes her hand, lifts it to her face, and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

"I love your hands. How good they are at making things," she says, her breath warm against Iruma's fingers. Harukawa tugs her hand closer, angles Iruma's arm so her palm is grazing her cheek, and kisses the inside of her wrist, making her shiver reflexively. "I love watching you show your inventions to Akamatsu so she can tell you how good they are, and seeing you get embarrassed when she compliments you because you never really believe it's going to happen, even though she does it every time."

Iruma's lungs feel like they've been punctured when Harukawa leans forward to kiss her on the left side of her chest, just below her collarbone. "I love your heart, and how sweet it is, even when you pretend it isn't." She sweeps Iruma's hair away from her forehead and brushes her lips against it. "I love your mind. Love how smart you are." Her hand comes up to run a thumb over Iruma's bottom lip, where her mouth hangs open, too caught up in Harukawa to remember that it should stay closed. "Your mouth, too. I like that best of all."

"Even with all the garbage that comes out of it?" Iruma asks weakly, and Harukawa chuckles.

"Iruma, the garbage is my favourite part," she says, and then she's kissing her, soft and certain, like she doesn't even mind that her cheeks are wet from tears. Iruma tries her best to kiss back, even though it's mostly lost in the quiet, happy sobs she can't even try to keep down, all teeth and probably too much spit but so happy she can barely contain it, so in _love_ , and Harukawa lets her, kissing her gentle and sweet, like sunshine and starlight pressed to Iruma’s lips.

"I'm never going to get tired of you, Iruma,” Harukawa tells her when she pulls away to let her breathe. "No one pisses me off like you do, makes me feel so _much_ , just like no one calms me down and helps me feel safe like Akamatsu can. I'm never going to run out of things to love about you. And Akamatsu's not going to, either. Just ask her."

Iruma snorts, once more acutely aware of the steady, deep breathing coming from behind her. "I don't think anything could wake her up right now. Not if she managed to sleep through me crying on you."

Harukawa gives a quiet laugh. "You'd be surprised. Give me a second."

"What–" Iruma begins to ask, but before she can get more than a word out, Harukawa's reaching past her and prodding Akamatsu in the stomach.

Akamatsu's immediate response is to dig her fingers into Iruma's hips, shaking her head in her half-sleep to try and block out the sensation of Harukawa poking her. When Harukawa persists she raises her head, just slightly, and groans, breath hot and gross against Iruma’s ear.

"Huh?" she manages to get out, eventually, and Iruma swears she can feel drool congealing in her hair as she twists over to look at Akamatsu, leant up on an elbow, looking seconds away from saying _fuck it_ and going back to using Iruma as a body pillow regardless of what Harukawa has to say.

"How do you feel about Iruma?" Harukawa asks, point blank, and in the faint light radiating from the crack in their blind, Iruma watches Akamatsu blink, confused.

"I love her. Can I go back to sleep?" she replies plainly, and immediately moves to lie back down, knotting her arms around Iruma's waist to tug her closer, stopped only by Harukawa reaching a hand out to catch her chin and stop her head from hitting the pillow.

"No. More than that. What do you think about her?"

"What do I think?" Akamatsu groans, taking a hand off Iruma's waist to rub at her eyes. "I think she's wonderful. So talented. So cute. So... unbelievable. I love her so much that it makes me worried, sometimes. Makes you worried, too."

"Worried?" Harukawa prompts, before Iruma can ask herself. "Why?"

"Well... You know," Akamatsu says, leaning forward to tuck Iruma's head under her chin, looking over at Harukawa where she reclines on her side of the bed. "It makes me worry that she won't stay with us forever. I get worried that she's going to feel trapped by us, like there's too much of us and not enough room for her to be her. And then she'll leave. And of course I want her to succeed and be the best she can be, but..."

"But?" Harukawa asks, and Akamatsu shrugs.

"It would suck to watch her win a Nobel prize and know that we're not going to be there afterwards to congratulate her for it. I hate thinking about not getting to cheer at the top of my lungs in the middle of the awards ceremony and embarrass the crap out of her with how loud I’m being. I hate thinking about not getting to drag her off somewhere to celebrate afterwards, about not being able to tell her how _proud_ we are of her. I want a future with her, Harukawa. And it scares me to think that I might not get it."

Iruma makes a noise like she's dying. In fact, she thinks she might actually be. _Here lies gorgeous girl genius Iruma Miu_ , she imagines her gravestone reading, _taken in the prime of her youth by her girlfriends telling her they love her_. It's loud enough for Akamatsu to look down and notice Iruma, staring up at her, and jump, almost falling out of the bed, only her suddenly vicious grip on Iruma's hips keeping her anchored.

"Iruma? You're _awake_? Harukawa!"

Harukawa shrugs. "She needed to hear it."

Akamatsu groans, a hand pressed over her mouth as she stares down at Iruma, who's still frozen in shock, unable to process everything she's just heard. "Did you... mean all of that?" Iruma asks slowly, still dazed, and Akamatsu nods, reaching down distractedly to brush a stray piece of hair out of Iruma's eyes.

"Of course I did!" she responds, disconcertingly honest in that way she always is, that way Iruma can never imagine being. "Of course I love you, and I want you to stay with me. With both of us." Pulling her hand away from her mouth, she gives Iruma a gentle smile, one like sunshine that makes the tension inside her chest unknot. "Of course I want you in my life. It wouldn't be nearly as fun without you."

"We're yours now, Iruma," Harukawa says quietly. "Just like you're ours. We get worried about you leaving too, you know."

"So stay with us, okay?" Akamatsu asks, wrapping her arms around Iruma's waist and pulling her into a hug. "We love you."

"No matter what," Harukawa finishes for her, and Iruma turns her head so they're face to face, Harukawa's eyes barely visible in the dark of the room. "Even if you don’t think you deserve it. _We_ know that you deserve our love."

"I..." Iruma begins nervously. "Don't hate you two," she gets out in a rush. "You're okay. Sometimes."

Behind her, Akamatsu giggles, breath hot against her ear, and Harukawa sighs in mock annoyance.

"Just okay?" she asks, and murmurs, "Don't encourage her," When Akamatsu only laughs louder.

"It's like I'm dating a dog and a cat," Iruma mutters, and then yelps as Akamatsu drags her tongue up the back of her neck, sudden and wet.

"Woof," Akamatsu chuckles as Iruma squirms, hands balled in Harukawa's shirt as she tries to get away. Harukawa isn’t any more helpful; all she does is purr quietly and rub her cheek against the top of Iruma's head, winding one of her legs around Iruma's to tug her and Akamatsu closer to her.

"Fucking furries," Iruma grumbles, swiping at the back of her neck to try and get Akamatsu's spit off. "If you two are a dog and a cat, what does that make me?"

"A bird," Akamatsu replies, and Harukawa hums in agreement.

"Smart," Harukawa says, shifting so she can wrap her arms around Iruma's waist, just above where Akamatsu's are.

"Cute," Akamatsu murmurs, and gives Iruma a sudden kiss behind her ear that makes her jump and squawk.

" _Noisy_ ," Harukawa reprimands, sounding more sleepy this time, a slurred quality to her voice that reminds Iruma of how tired she is.

"And... I always feel like you're going to fly away," Akamatsu says, quiet and a little unsteady, like she's afraid she's saying too much. "Like we're keeping you caged." She sighs. "Like some day we'll wake up and you won't be here anymore."

For a moment, none of them have any response to that at all.

"I'll come back." Iruma breaks the silence, awkward and a little stilted, words so heavy with sincerity that the unfamiliarity of it all makes her breathless, dizzy like she's standing at the edge of a tall building, about to take a step off and go hurtling towards the ground. "Even if I get scared and fly away, I'll come back to you. Always." She squeezes her eyes shut, afraid to open them, afraid of seeing either of their faces and losing her nerve to continue. "You're mine now. Both of you. And you won't get rid of me that easily."

Speech finished, she cracks open an eye. In the faint light of their room, Harukawa smiles at her, unguarded and tender, and when her gaze shifts to just over Iruma's shoulder, it's all the information she needs to know that behind her Akamatsu's face is the same.

"Sappy," Harukawa teases eventually, and Iruma sputters, sending Akamatsu into peals of laughter again.

"Fuck you! You just spent an hour telling me you love me! You're the sappy one here, not me!"

"Go to sleep, princess," Harukawa tells her, through barely contained laughter. Akamatsu's breathing is already beginning to slow, a sure sign that she's already succumbing to exhaustion. "We still have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I'm not going to be the one doing all the lifting again because you two are too tired."

Too sleepy to argue back, Iruma shifts, wrapping her arms around Harukawa's waist and leaning back against Akamatsu's chest. It's not until she's about to fall asleep that she remembers something from their conversation and prods Harukawa in the shoulder, earning a sleepy, inquiring grunt from her that lets her know she's listening.

"You know, cats _eat_ birds–" Iruma begins slyly, and Harukawa immediately puts a hand over her mouth.

"Sleep," she tells her firmly, and eventually, Iruma does.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to worms for basically creating the incredibly specific universe this is set in when i die hot panta  
> triple shoutout to [marty](http://tallykale.tumblr.com) for deapeifying my content  
> the title is from 1950 by king princess (it's a really beautiful wlw song written by an Actual Lesbian go listen to it it gets me so emotional)  
> this is so self indulgent i just really love iruma and want her to be happy dont @ me  
> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lesbianiruma) and [tunglr](http://deerlimbs.tumblr.com) if ur gay and you love girls  
> thank you for reading  
> comment if u a real 1  
> bye


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